


Exit Stage Left

by Bendigedig



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Confessions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bendigedig/pseuds/Bendigedig
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been wanting a chance to talk to each other properly. They finally get it when they’re both supposed to be supervising the school play, which seems to be a rather bizarre take on the traditional nativity scene.Inspired by that one iconic scene from Love Actually.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Exit Stage Left

**Author's Note:**

> I realised that I hadn’t written anything for Christmas because I’ve been stuck in a retail hellscape in the early hours of the morning every night for the past two weeks. But I wanted to do something because I do love this time of year, so here’s my contribution.

“This is going down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale jumped at the sudden, low timber of a voice in his left ear. Tearing his gaze away from the awkward and quite frankly bizarre nativity production that he had been carefully observing from backstage for the past ten minutes, he whirled around to confirm his suspicions about the owner of the voice. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he had been correct. 

Mr. Crowley - the new history teacher who’d been hired just a couple of months ago when Mr. Shadwell had retired - was standing close behind him, leaning forward ever so slightly so that he didn’t have to raise his voice and risk being heard over the nervous and awkward yet enthusiastic delivery of the students’ lines. The two of them stood stage left, slightly cramped in the small space between long, forest green, velvet curtains that hadn’t been replaced in decades. 

Aziraphale was ever so slightly nervous at their proximity, his stomach swooping with the realisation that the other teacher’s chest had almost been pressed against his back. Mr. Crowley seemed to come to the same realisation if the slight coloration of his face was any indication, but he made no move to put space between them. So Aziraphale settled into it, turning the rest of his body towards the man and relaxing as if the two of them were regularly in each other’s personal space like this.

Out of all the teachers at Eden's Gate Primary School, Mr. Crowley was the one Aziraphale had spoken to the least. Not for lack of want though. Oh, he had wanted. From the first moment he had seen the man pull up in the car park in that beautifully kept old Bentley and saunter across the car park, all dark and mysterious with his loosely swaying hips, shock of red hair and eyes hidden by stylish sunglasses, Aziraphale had been captivated.

The only issue was, their classrooms were nowhere near each other, and Mr. Crowley seemed to like to keep to himself. His presence rarely ever graced the aged and slightly discoloured walls of the staff room, and even when it did, it was just to refill his flask with coffee and leave again. 

On one occasion, not long after Mr. Crowley had joined the school, Aziraphale had ventured down to his classroom during the morning break. It had been his intention to offer a friendly introduction and welcome him properly to the school, outside of the stiff, official greetings that had been exchanged during Mr. Crowley’s first staff meeting. He had even come armed with crepes he’d picked up that morning from his favourite French themed bakery along the way, hoping they might get the chance to sit down and share them.

When he’d reached Mr. Crowley’s classroom, he’d wasted too much time gaping and fussing over the incredible transformation that had taken place. Mr. Shadwell had been a nice enough man, with all his eccentricities, but his classroom had always been rather stuffy and outdated.

Mr. Crowley had turned it into a perfect space for children to learn, he had opened up the space, cleared the windows so that it had more natural light. There were lush, green plants in the corner, and a watering rota and instructions on the wall so that the students could take turns in caring for them. Most impressive of all to Aziraphale, the display boards around the classroom had all been decorated with handmade illustrations of popular children’s fiction characters, each one surrounded by speech bubbles containing different historical facts.

Aziraphale had completely forgotten his reason for being there.

“This is absolutely incredible!” he had gushed. “Oh, the children must love this. How did you even think to do all of this? It's brilliant!”

Mr. Crowley had immediately flushed, clearly not used to such praise, although Aziraphale couldn’t fathom why if he normally put this much care into his work.

“It’s nothing really,” he’d shrugged, his posture suddenly stiff and awkward under all the attention. “Just thought the students might like a change of scenery from all the boring, beige blocks of paper that were up before, so I spent the weekend drawing these.”

“You drew them yourself?!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his eyes wide. “That’s really thoughtful of you, my dear. I’m willing to bet they adore it. I wish I could do something like this, but I’m not as talented as you so I’m afraid it’s a search on the google and a coloured printer for me.”

A series of indecipherable sounds had left Mr. Crowley’s lips in response to that, followed by a bewildered mumble of “the google” and then an abrupt offer. “I’ll do it for you. Drawings, I mean. I’ll do some drawings for you,” he paused as if he couldn't believe what was coming out of his own mouth in front of the man he’d only just met. “Just tell me what you’d like - which characters - and I’ll get to work.”

Aziraphale came to the sudden realisation that the man was not entirely as suave as he tried to appear. It was a relief, as Aziraphale had been threating that the man might think himself too cool for someone as prim and proper as him. Seeing the man flounder and falter at a few simple compliments was awfully endearing, it made him instantly more approachable.

“That’s quite alright, I’m sure you have a lot of work to do already and I wouldn’t want to add to your burden.”

“It’s not a burden. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it for you.”

The blunt certainly in his tone took Aziraphale by surprise, nobody ever offered to do things for him, even when he specifically requested. And here this stranger was, sincerely offering to take time out of his busy day to do something that likely wasn’t an easy task, just for him. Aziraphale felt a fluttering in his chest.

Unfortunately, this was when one of the deputy head teachers, Mx. Beelzebub had decided to make an appearance. Everyone in the school, even new hires, knew that they should drop everything and prepare for a long and most likely stressful discussion if either of the two deputy head teachers appeared at their door, as most of their requests made no sense, contradicted each other and impeded on work that had already been planned. The other deputy head, Mr. Gabriel, often liked to come around after Mx. Beelzebub and request that the exact opposite of whatever they asked for be done.

It was no secret that both deputy heads had their eye on the head teacher position that would open up once the current head retired and as a result they were always at each other’s throats, engaging in a rivalry that had now been going on over ten years. They undermined each other at every possible opportunity, almost obsessive in trying to figure out how to wind each other up. Aziraphale would never say it out loud, but he often found himself thinking that they should just get together already and stop letting the tension between them make everyone else’s job difficult.

Aziraphale had been promptly dismissed by Mx. Beelzebub, but he had managed to slip one of the crepes on Mr. Crowley’s desk before walking away, casting one last glance behind him on the way out and catching what he thought might be a disappointed expression on the other teacher’s face.

The next morning, he was surprised to find a blueberry muffin and take-away cup of English Breakfast tea from the same bakery on his desk along with a note that read; ‘Thanks for the crepe, Angel. - Antony J. Crowley’.

Later on that day, he had caught up with the man while they were on playground duty. 

“Your first name is Anthony?” Aziraphale had blurted out in lieu of a greeting.

Mr. Crowley had startled, before realising who was talking to him and relaxing just a little.

“You don’t like it?” he had questioned, something oddly hopeful, yet insecure in his voice.

“I never said that.”

Two children ran past them, screeching and laughing at the top of their lungs. The two men paid them barely any mind.

“Well, doesn’t really matter anyway, I normally just go by ‘Crowley’.”

“Any particular reason?” Aziraphale had asked, intrigued.

Crowley shrugged. “Just think it suits me better.”

“It does rather suit you, dear,” Aziraphale had responded, the term of endearment slipping out as it naturally did when he was making polite conversation. Crowley seemed to falter at the sound of it though and something strange and new seemed to pass between them as they made eye contact. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Thank you for the food, it was very kind of you.”

“Not really, just returning the favour,” Crowley responded dismissively.

“Yes, well, you didn’t have to and that makes it an act of kindness in my book,” Aziraphale insisted, ignoring the put out look on the other teacher’s face at being called kind again. “I had been rather hoping we could sit down and eat the crepes I’d bought together, before we were interrupted.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his lips parted in something like quiet surprise.

“We can, another day. Any day you want, Angel,” he’d blurted out, his cheeks flushing slightly as the nickname slipped out. “My door is always open to you. Anything you need, just ask.”

Aziraphale didn’t miss the emphasis placed upon _to you_ , as if it wasn’t always open to just any other teacher.

“Aziraphale.”

“Excuse me?”

“My first name,” Aziraphale explained. “It’s Aziraphale.”

A warm, amused grin illuminated Crowley’s features. “Then I was right, wasn’t I?”

“About what?” Aziraphale questioned, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

“You actually are an angel.”

Aziraphale felt himself blush and he tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat to ground himself. But before he had a chance to think of a response, Adam Young - one of the boys in his homeroom class - had taken a running leap at Warlock Dowling from class 6-A and tackled him to the ground, a crowd quickly gathering around them. Both himself and Crowley had sprinted over to the scene to separate them, and hours of discussion with pastoral staff and talking to parents had followed.

In the weeks following, Aziraphale had desperately wanted to talk to Crowley again, or take him up on the offer of visiting his classroom, but they both always seemed to be too busy. Either that or something would interrupt them before they could even get out a simple sentence. Winter term was rapidly approaching after all, a busy time in the life of a primary school teacher. If they weren’t swamped with marking, they were planning and preparing for special holidays themed classes or in talks with other members of staff about the school’s Christmas events.

So for the past few weeks, they had settled for brief, friendly greetings and making faces at each other over other staff members’ shoulders. They interacted mainly through looks, gestures and post-it notes left on desks next to warm drinks and sweet treats as the days grew colder. Every voiceless conversation, every longing gaze, ignited sparks between them, ready to burst into flames if given enough fuel to do so. The strange air of anticipation only grew as time went on, until they both felt as if they were on the precipice of something, ready to fall and hoping that the other could be trusted to catch them.

Which brought them to this moment, the first time they finally had a chance to talk face to face again.

Crowley was without his glasses for once - probably under the orders of one of the deputy heads, who were always insisting that it was unprofessional to wear them indoors, medical condition or not - and that was entirely unfair on Aziraphale, as his eyes were disarming in their beauty. His irises were a unique, hypnotising yellow, they almost shone gold in the dim backstage lighting. Then there were his cat - or, more fittingly snake-like pupils, that were shaped like diamonds, probably via genetic mutation. And more than that, they were so expressive, Aziraphale felt like he’d be able to read Crowley’s every thought if he peered close enough, and he did enjoy reading.

His eyes were absolutely breathtaking, and Aziraphale was thoroughly captured in their gaze.

“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale asked, only just remembering that Crowley had actually spoken to him.

Crowley’s lips pulled upwards in a slow, lazy smirk, and Aziraphale followed the movement. Shamelessly wondering what they might feel like if he were brave enough to lean forward just a little.

“I said, this is going down like a lead balloon. Half of the parents were asleep or looking at their phones when I checked a minute ago.” He leaned past Aziraphale to peer out at the stage again and Aziraphale noted that he was wearing an enticingly rich scent with the barest hint of spice. But then he was straightening up with a grimace at what he saw beyond the curtain and Aziraphale mourned the loss of body heat shared between them for that one brief moment. “Who’s idea was it to put an octopus and a lobster in a nativity scene anyway?”

_I don’t care just please come back here._

“That would be the work of our deputy head teachers. Apparently the head teacher wanted them to work together to make the play more inclusive for the children whose families don’t celebrate Christmas and this,” he gestured to the perplexing scene behind him, “was their solution.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow in confusion and disbelief. “This is their attempt at making the school play more inclusive?” He questioned. “Why not just do a pantomime like Pinocchio or Jack and The Beanstalk or something? Not whatever this is supposed to be. This is just confusing for everyone involved. Is that - is one of the three wise men a unicorn? They don’t even exist. At least with the other animals, you could argue that they were actually somewhere on the planet at the time, or their ancestors were anyway.”

“Yes, it is all rather ridiculous, but this is what happens when those two try to collaborate on something,” Aziraphale sighed. 

“If you ask me, they just need to sleep with each other already.” Crowely muttered cheekily.

Aziraphale gasped, acting affronted even though he’d thought the exact same thing on multiple occasions. “You foul fiend,” he grinned, mirroring the look on the other man’s face like it was something conspiratorial, just between them. The moment dragged on ever so slightly, that familiar, tense anticipation blooming between them. 

Just as Crowley’s smile began to fade, morphing into a look that was entirely too serious and focused, Aziraphale picked the conversation back up where it had derailed. “Still, at least there’s going to be a big musical number to finish it all off, that should perk up the audience a little at the very least. And we can at least be glad that Mr. Gabriel’s suggestion that the students put on a production of The Sound of Music was rejected.”

“That’s true, I’d take this over the cacophony of thirty odd children performing a flat rendition of Climb Ev’ry Mountain any day.”

As if on cue, Adam Young - who had been singing far louder than necessary and could be heard clearly over the rest of the students - hit a rather horrendous note that rang sharply in Aziraphale’s ear, causing him to wince. A loud laugh escaped him at the ridiculousness of it all and he quickly covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide and his cheeks burning with the embarrassing realisation that he had probably been heard by the audience, or at least the teachers in the front row. He looked at Crowley for reassurance, but instead what he saw made his heart skip a few beats.

Crowley was staring at him with the soft expression, his eyes brimming with amusement and a fondness that Aziraphale had never been on the receiving end of before, not even from family. It was the equivalent of being wrapped up in a warm, cozy blanket, fresh out of the tumble dryer and Aziraphale almost couldn’t take how appreciated it made him feel, like he was someone special and important.

Gentle fingertips met the exposed skin of Aziraphale’s wrist, flitting along in a way that made his skin tingle and raised goosebumps on his arm, until long piano player fingers wrapped around it and carefully pulled his hand away from his mouth. Aziraphale stared at Crowley with wide eyes, his lips parted on a gasp as the other man’s hand drifted down to take his, intertwining their fingers, their hands fitting together like they were made to be that way. 

“Come on, angel,” Crowley whispered, sending a shiver down his spine that almost made him find a new sense of respect for ASMR. “Let’s go talk somewhere else.”

“B-but we need to stay near the stage,” Aziraphale protested weakly, still allowing Crowley to drag him along.

In all truth, it probably wouldn’t take much at all for Aziraphale to follow the man anywhere. And wasn’t that a thrilling and terrifying thought?

“Don’t worry, we aren’t leaving,” Crowley explained. “Just moving so that they can’t find us to tell us off if we talk or laugh over the play,” he explained, his tone saturated with amusement.

Aziraphale batted at his shoulder with his free hand. “You wily demon! You’re the one who made me laugh in the first place,” he jokingly accused.

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

The honesty in his tone caught Aziraphale off guard, causing him to stumble a little as he followed Crowley further behind the stage. They came to a halt somewhere near where the middle of the stage would be. It was darker back there, in the space between the curtain and the wall. And although they could see the outline of the other’s silhouette, they still felt the need to reach out, rearranging their clasped hands and reaching out with free hands in the dark until Crowley was holding both of Aziraphale’s hands softly in his, their palms touching and pads of thumbs smoothing over warm, soft, skin in repetitive, caring motions. 

“So. It seems we’re alone,” Crowley pointed out, his tone weighted with something unspoken and overwhelming.

“Indeed.”

“Anything you want to talk about now that you have my undivided attention?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. There were so many things that he wanted to say, so many that he wanted to ask. Things like ‘Do you feel this thing between us as well or is it just me reading into everything too much?’ and following that ‘What exactly is this thing between us?’ or perhaps ‘Would you like to go out on a date with me after work one day so we can see where this thing between us goes?’. But Aziraphale wasn’t brave enough, not yet anyway.

“Actually, yes. There is something that’s been bothering me for quite some time.”

“What is it, Angel?” Crowley inquired, hanging on his every word, waiting with baited breath.

“What does the ‘J’ stand for?”

The movements of Crowley’s thumbs against his skin stopped abruptly, and Aziraphale thought perhaps he shouldn’t have taken their conversation so far off its tracks.

“What?”

Aziraphale steeled his nerves. “I said; what does the ‘J’ stand for? In your name. You always sign your notes ‘Anthony J. Crowley’ and I have to admit I have been rather curious.”

“Oh,” Crowley chuckled, “it’s just a ‘J’ really. When I was in university I was in a band and for some reason, I thought it would be really cool to go by the stage name ‘J’. It didn’t even really stand for everything, but we all just went by one letter. And somehow, I ended up getting the marvellous idea to shell out thirty six pounds to have it legally added to my name.”

“You didn’t!”

Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss this ridiculous, delightfully goofy and creative man.

“I did. I thought if I got famous, it would be like when people’s stage names are written in the middle of their real names in the media. Like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and all those others I can’t really remember right now.”

“Not to burst your bubble, dear boy, but I think that only usually happens with wrestlers and sports people,” Aziraphale mentioned tentatively, worried that he might somehow ruin the other man’s fun by pointing it out.

A few beats of silence passed between them and then Crowley erupted into quiet giggles, Aziraphale joining in shortly after, delighted that he’d drawn such an impossibly endearing reaction out of him. They came together naturally, pressing their foreheads against each other like it was something they’d always done as they both settled down from their hysterical fits of laughter.

“I’m glad we’re finally getting the chance to talk, I’ve wanted to for ages,” Aziraphale admitted, drawing bravery from the feeling of the other man’s skin against his. “When I first saw you, I thought you were all aloof and mysterious and I wanted to get to know you, but then I saw how much you cared about your job and the kids and I wanted to get to know you even more.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered between them. And Aziraphale had a hunch that remark went deeper than just their mutual desire to get to know each other. 

“When I first saw you I thought you were a bit of a snob,” Crowley admitted, “but a bloody gorgeous one. With those sexy curves and that hair and those pretty eyes. You look like an angel, that’s why I called you that.”

Aziraphale gasped. No one had ever talked about him in that way before. He’d had partners before, but most of them had said that it was his personality that won them over, like they had to be worn down by it over time before they found him appealing. They’d even gave little digs at his appearance here and there in an effort to encourage him to change, to slim down and start dressing differently. Needless to say, those relationships hadn’t lasted long. But Crowley was talking about him like he had always found him attractive, from the very beginning.

“And then you were talking about me like I was valuable and you bought me food even though you didn’t know me and all I wanted was a chance to spend more time with you.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered sharply, his voice a little choked up as Crowley’s words and the affection in his voice hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Crowley’s hands brushed over Aziraphale’s, as if attempting to commit the feel of them to his memory. His fingertips started to trail up towards Aziraphale’s wrists and forearms and Aziraphale took a shaky breath, willing himself to stay still so as not to spoil the fragile moment. But then the other man paused suddenly, his fingers tracing back over a particular patch of skin as if searching for something. 

“Hang on a second, weren’t you wearing a watch earlier?” he questioned abruptly.

Aziraphale faltered like a shoplifter who’d been caught in the midst of their criminal activities, not expecting anyone to have noticed. On the other side of the curtain, the unmissable opening bars of All I Want For Christmas started up. Technically they were supposed to be out on stage with the rest of the staff at that moment. But instead they were hidden in the secret space behind it, where it felt like only Crowley and Aziraphale existed, and silence stretched between them. “Um…”

“You were,” Crowley accused, leaning back to try and get a look at Aziraphale’s face in the dark. “You were wearing a watch, I remember seeing it. It looked very expensive.”

“...gave it away…” Aziraphale mumbled, barley loud enough for even his own ears to detect.

“You what?!” Crowley asked, stunned.

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale repeated louder, his tone defensive, ready to be reprimanded for being so careless with something important. “It was a gift from my mother so I only wear it on special occasions, but one of the kids playing a wise man forgot to bring something to use as a gift a-and the others both had theirs, so he started to worry and I didn’t want him going out there and getting upset. It’s scary going out in front of all those people unprepared, especially for a child. So I gave him my watch and I said; ‘Here take this, just be careful with it and bring it back to me later. Off you go now, wouldn’t wanna be late’. And that was that.”

The music swelled behind them, but Aziraphale heard Crowley’s response loud and clear as if it was spoken directly into his ear.

“Angel, you have no idea how much I wanna kiss you right now.”

Aziraphale’s lips parted in shock, or anticipation, he wasn’t quite sure anymore. “Please,” he said, his voice almost a whimper as his hands latched onto the material that rested at Crowley’s sinful hips.

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion, the result of weeks of admiration that had built up between them. Crowley's hands trailed purposely up to cup the back of Aziraphale’s head and guide him forwards ever so gently. Aziraphale could almost cry at how tenderly Crowley was treating him as he leaned in to meet him, making sure that his lips landed carefully against Aziraphale’s in the dark.

Their lips met in a soft press and it was like the floodgates were opened. Weeks and weeks of longing poured out of them as hands explored and lips moved together passionately. Aziraphale’s heartbeat thundered loudly in his ears, pulsing against his chest as if it wanted to burst out. Everything around him became a blur, his world focused solely on the body wrapped around his, on drawing pretty, desperate sounds out of the man who had looked at him and saw something beautiful, who made him look forward to work even on the most stressful of days. 

“God, Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbled against his lips between kisses, his arms now looped around the back of his neck. Aziraphale inhaled sharply at the way his name sounded coming out of Crowley’s mouth, like something desirable.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms firmly around Crowley’s waist, holding him tightly, bringing them closer together until it wasn’t entirely clear where one person ended and the other began. He dipped Crowley backwards slightly, and the other man broke their kiss. “Oh Mr. Fell, I feel like a Hollywood damsel,” he said dramatically, a wicked grin on his face, though the breathlessness in his tone revealed that he might like it more than he let on.

“Be quiet you fiend,” Aziraphale said with an exasperated smile of his own. “There’s still a school play going on just on the other side of that curtain.” His eyes widened as he actually considered his words. “Oh God, what are we doing?”

Crowley moved one of his hands up to cup Aziraphale’s face, his thumb tracing over his cheekbone soothingly. “Something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you walk into that staff meeting with your little tartan folder and matching pen,” he admitted boldly.

“Tartan’s stylish,” Aziraphale tutted.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Crowley responded impatiently.

“I still can’t believe you got me to follow you here when I should have been keeping an eye on the play, you wiley tempter.”

“It’s working out rather well for you now though, isn’t it?” Crowley said with a smug smile and a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle.

Instead of giving an answer, Aziraphale swooped in to kiss him again, revelling in the way he relaxed against his mouth, falling easily back into his rhythm like they were on the same wavelength. The world around them melted away once again with each pull and drag of skin against skin as hands dipped under shirts and explored territory still uncharted to them. 

They both started getting a little bit carried away, and Aziraphale was just about to wrap one of his strong hands around Crowley’s slim thigh and hitch it up against his waist, when the rattling of something mechanical moving above them caught his ears. Both men froze, their eyes shooting wide open as light flooded into their space and the sound of applause that had been meer background noise moments ago suddenly sounded ten times louder.

Crowley and Aziraphale parted, dread dropping like ice into their stomachs. One look around confirmed their worst fears, that they had been standing in front of a Christmas display that was supposed to have been a big reveal, part of a grand finale. Huge, obnoxious, sparkling letters reading ‘Happy Holidays’ mocked them from above.

The students and staff stared at them with a mixture of scandalised expressions and knowing smirks, and the two deputy heads were absolutely furious, Aziraphale could almost see the smoke coming out of their ears. He held his breath in the silence of the room, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then he felt a hand squeeze his reassuring, and he looked over to meet Crowley’s nervous gaze.

Crowley looked a mess, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, his normally perfectly styled hair was all over the place, his lips were slightly swollen and his eyes were looking around frantically as if searching for an exit even with his feet firmly rooted to the spot. But no matter how scared he seemed, he never once let go of Aziraphale’s hand and he even tried to offer him a small reassuring smile. One that after weeks of reading the man’s facial expressions, Aziraphale knew to mean ‘everything’s gonna be ok’. 

Aziraphale had felt like running, but he wasn’t going anywhere, not now, not with this wonderful man trusting him to stay. He squeezed Crowley’s hand back, holding it firmly in solidarity and his heart soared as the man’s tentative smile grew. 

All of a sudden, a wolf whistle rang out from the audience, accompanied by an encouraging shout of support. A few other audience members joined in and all of a sudden the applause was back as if it had never left. The deputy heads looked utterly perplexed by it all, having probably expected to have to fend off a mob of angry parents criticising the school for displaying such an act of homosexuality at Christmas no less. 

In reality, it was one of the most interesting things to happen all night and most of the mothers were happy just to have something new to gossip about. One or two people looked offended. But it was something for them to worry about tomorrow. Honestly, they’d seen more parents offended at the quite frankly horrendously blasphemous nativity scene than their kiss.

Aziraphale burst into giggles, hit by the sheer silliness of the entire situation. He looked across at Crowley, who was bowing and waving to the crowd like an actor accepting an award and a stupidly smitten expression settled on his features as he watched him, chasing away the worried creases that were there a few moments ago. Crowley seemed to notice Aziraphale staring and offered him a warm smile as he tugged on his hand, beckoning him to follow. Aziraphale went easily, letting himself be dragged back behind the curtain at the side of the stage.

“Can I give you a lift, Angel?” he offered once they were alone, something nervous in his expression despite what they’d just done in front of the entire assembly hall. “I’ll take you anywhere. Anywhere you wanna go. Even if you just wanna go home.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached at how Crowley was still trying to do something for him. Offering to go out of his way for him even through the fear that it might be rejected and not asking for or even expecting anything in return. Aziraphale decided that he could be brave for this man. He decided that he would let him in, even if it was nerve racking, trusting someone that much, that he wouldn’t let things be one-sided out of fear. He would give him a chance and see where things went for once instead of trying to have everything in his life meticulously planned.

They were already about to be in a whole heap of trouble the next day after all. What more could they possibly get into?

“A lift sounds lovely, darling,” he smiled, “but I was rather hoping we could go somewhere where we could talk properly. Perhaps we could go for dinner, perhaps as a first date.”

Crowley lit up in response, positively beaming. He gave Aziraphale’s hand another little squeeze. “Sounds absolutely fucking fantastic, Angel,” he gushed, his stunningly expressive eyes swimming with relief and a spark of hope. “Follow me.”

He would, Aziraphale decided in that moment. He would follow Crowley to the ends of the Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing a kiss scene in years.


End file.
